Penguin Logistics decided to go on the offensive against the gangs operating on Lungmen's outer edge.
Just reading the words feels strange. A logistics company picking a fight with gangsters—anyone would think that's absurd. But if you actually look at the lineups, you realize Penguin Logistics is not the disadvantaged side here.
A delivery company founded by a Columbian celebrity producer and a mysterious girl with family connections quickly gained the backing of couriers and the Sankta. Add celebrity support on top of that—and then a dangerous weaponsmith joining the roster—and the equation stops looking like "logistics vs. gangsters" and starts looking like "a small private army that happens to deliver packages."
Yet the most dangerous element remained the "mystery" within the group: someone who had never revealed his origins or purpose, and still blended in as if he had always belonged.
It might have been none of her business.
But Swire absolutely refused to allow Lungmen—her second home—to harbor someone whose background couldn't be traced through any confidential channel, whose arrival had no record, and whose very species couldn't even be confirmed.
She could accept him being infected with Oripathy. Lungmen didn't have many such people, but they weren't unheard of.
But a person with no provenance at all—someone who might not even be real—was unacceptable.
And it wasn't just her. To a significant extent, multiple parties were backing her up, or this situation would never have reached this stage.
"Penguin Logistics arrived in the area thirty minutes ago and split into two teams for the breach."
The informer's voice crackled through Swire's comm device. She sat in her car, already dressed and half-finished with her disguise, making final adjustments.
She intended to observe Penguin Logistics—and that man—at close range.
This district wasn't a busy commercial center, and it wasn't core territory either, but strictly speaking it also wasn't a slum.
In other words: there were plenty of ordinary civilians walking the streets.
Once made up, Swire looked like a perfectly ordinary Feline girl dressed in recent fashionable trends—sheer outerwear included. To make it more convincing, she'd even forced herself to dye her perfect coat a mottled gray-white, creating a different "styled" look.
As she finished her last touch-ups, the informer delivered the final report.
"Of them, the frontal assault team is Croissant, Sora, and Exusiai. The flanking breach is Texas alone. Li Lin is outside the vehicle on lookout duty, watching for possible escapees. I might get knocked out by Arts any second—his position is—"
A rapid address followed.
Then chaos surged on the other end of the line.
It sounded as if Penguin Logistics had assumed the informer was looking for other accomplices, and the call was cut off at once—followed by a heavy thud, like a body hitting the ground. Instant unconsciousness.
There wasn't time to mourn.
Swire grabbed her handbag and phone and moved to step out of the car and head toward the site.
She hadn't even taken two steps before her phone—configured to be silent except for a very small list—rang again.
The moment she answered, an angry voice poured through the speaker.
"Char siu cat! What the hell are you doing? Why are you over there? That's my jurisdiction!"
"I don't care. I've got a dangerous fugitive heading that way, so I'm going to seize the chance and arrest them."
"What dangerous fugitive? Why don't I know anything about that?"
"My private channels. You should be thanking me for stopping you from making a huge mess."
"Hello? Hello! Don't screw around! I've put real effort into that area! In a few months I'm going to—"
Swire hung up without hesitation.
One day you'll thank me.
She checked her equipment again.
Folded weapon: OK.
Makeup: OK.
Disguise styling: OK.
Arrest paperwork and ID: OK.
The awkwardness from earlier had become useful "texture" in her performance. Looking at herself reflected in the street-side glass, she nodded with satisfaction.
A sheer blouse and short skirt over black inner layers; lingerie with a deliberately "broken" styling that exposed her waistline and navel. Bright, fashionable, aligned with Lungmen's—and Terra's—mainstream aesthetics. Simple, but carefully arranged to look like a girl who had put effort into her appearance.
Perfect.
If that man recognized her immediately, then he was one hundred percent suspicious.
With a final swipe of lip balm to prevent dryness, Swire adjusted her comm terminal and headed toward the alley where Penguin Logistics' vehicle had been left.
Her pace was unhurried.
Soon, she spotted the modified car—and the man standing beside it.
Everything looked natural. Nothing seemed wrong.
It was as if Penguin Logistics had simply parked to load cargo: a vehicle sitting neatly at the curb, no unusual movement.
And the man—tall, straight-backed, almost cold in bearing—stood by the car scanning passersby, like a bored delivery worker killing time.
It should be fine…
Walking along the same side of the street, Swire reassured herself. Like any ordinary Lungmen resident, she shook out her hair and continued forward in a perfectly normal manner.
The man remained leaning by the car, gaze moving over every person who passed.
Then, the instant he saw Swire—
he smiled.
In the moment that smile appeared, Swire's heartbeat skipped.
…He found me?
At that exact moment, a hulking Ursus walked between them, blocking her view for a beat.
But in that brief instant—when the Ursus moved on—
Swire felt a chill of panic.
The man was gone.
He disappeared? Where? Where is he?
Gone.
Vanished.
In the kaleidoscope of buildings, there was no sign of him.
A tourist-trap maze of streets and storefronts swallowed people whole; standing in the open among a crowd, Swire suddenly felt a kind of fear she couldn't shake.
He'd noticed her.
She knew it.
One second.
A single moment—
"…Yo."
A friendly greeting sounded from behind her.
"Officer Swire. You're dressed pretty fashionably today. Very pretty. Something good happen?"
The man stood there in plain workwear, posture straight, wearing a gentle smile as he looked at her stunned expression—his trousers marked with a faint, chilly stain, as if he'd just stepped out of somewhere damp and cold.
-------
My : pat*eon*com/RuneA
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